Save me a seat

I did a lot of sitting yesterday. Too much, actually. Sitting is the worst position for my back pain. And then when you add in poor seating decisions, well, my back feels like it is hooked up to one of those cardiac paddle thingys. Every few seconds, WHAM! My back muscles spasm and feel like they are leaping out of my body like that slimy creature in “Alien.” It’s tiring and has taunted me to the edge of my sanity all day. Even the typically reliable muscle relaxants are shrugging their cyclobenzaprine shoulders. I guess I just get to endure and wait it out. Terrific.

I had two long sitting occasions yesterday. The first was in a park at a cement picnic table for a book study. I should have brought a cushion and I should have known better. If I had just stopped there with the sitting, I bet I’d be praising my muscle relaxant prescription right now. Instead, yesterday I came home, reclined for about an hour, and ambled off to Occasion #2…a 19 year old’s birthday party.

The patio celebration was quite relaxing, with yummy food, pleasant chit chat, and a small gaggle of hugely fun teen girls who gamely referred to themselves (for the day) as the Birthday Girl’s Minions. Seating was provided and for the first time ever…since I do not camp nor have reason to wear the “Soccer Mom” moniker… I sat for a long spell in one of those fold-up-able canvas camping chairs. It was sort of like a hammock and I was surprised it did not hurt to sit in. Getting in and out of it required much focus and assistance, but staying put was much more comfortable than anticipated. Well, until late last night. Dreaming about being in pain is pretty much as annoying as being awake and in pain. On the bright side, at least I got to sleep.

What was so interesting to me, as I pondered this morning how I might have chosen better seating yesterday, was a phenomenon I have noticed at numerous outdoor gatherings: the youngest people snag the best seats. And by best I mean most sturdy, padded, stable, verging on “furniture,” and typically surrounding a table. Perhaps it is because the younger people get there first. Perhaps it is because they have no reason to realize that plastic, canvas, or webbed seating can be somewhat torturous when you reach or surpass the age at which you have been driving more of your life than you haven’t. Either way, I cannot blame them. Choosing those seats is a rational decision given the limited-by-life information they have. However, even more interesting a phenomenon: as the kids lounge about and twirl and bounce and otherwise enjoy the best seats, the adults accommodate them by creaking into lesser contraptions, never thinking to request a short game of musical chairs. Why is that?

Of course, I know without a doubt that one of the good chairs would have been happily relinquished to me had I asked yesterday. But, well, the butt hammock wasn’t so bad at the time and I really do get weary of having to make a fuss about my back. Being high maintenance sucks. No, I suppose the best option for the future is for me to simply invite myself to sit at the Kids Table. I might even get extra frosting that way, too.